


Disco Cops

by GotTheSilver



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Future Fic, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 03:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GotTheSilver/pseuds/GotTheSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You don’t need to protect me, Stiles.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Officer of the law here,” Stiles says, his smile twisting into a dirty smirk. “That’s my job.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Not in those shorts.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“How about out of these shorts?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disco Cops

**Author's Note:**

> everyone's seen the [photo](http://24.media.tumblr.com/49990c63c1965bc954e7c87386a688eb/tumblr_mvcxgjuun11rawxrxo1_500.jpg) of Dylan in those shorts, right? well, this was inevitable.
> 
> those responsible know who they are. they're also responsible for the title.

Derek doesn’t even know what he’s doing; for some reason Scott wouldn’t accept a ‘no’ when he invited Derek to his Halloween party. He even threatened to get _Erica_ involved, and Derek still has nightmares of the surprise party she threw for his last birthday. That’s not something he wants to relive. Scott said something about finally being able to be the one to buy the booze legally and not even Derek pointing out werewolves can’t get drunk had dampened his enthusiasm.

Dressing up wasn’t part of the deal, so Derek threw on his leather jacket over a tank top and headed out. When he gets to the place everyone clubbed together and hired for the night, Derek winces at the thudding dance music already echoing from the building and sighs. He’s too old for this, he really is. Still, he’s been trying to make an effort, make things _better_ with Scott, so he heads on over.

The kid at the door gives him a once over before shrugging and waving him in. Derek rolls his eyes at the thought of anyone being able to stop him getting in and pushes the door open, his senses instantly assaulted by the heavy scent of alcohol, sweat and lust. It’s what he imagines an orgy would smell like and he’s just about to turn around and leave when Isaac spots him and waves him over.

Boyd and Erica are with Isaac, they’ve all got drinks in their hands and Derek bites back a comment because, fuck, they’re all legal now. All technically adults, and isn’t that one of the scariest things ever?

“Hey,” Isaac says at a normal volume, aware Derek will be able to hear him. “You didn’t want to do a costume?”

“I didn’t want to come,” Derek says with a smirk, snagging a beer from the table. He sniffs it, determines it to be okay and takes a swig. “What are you meant to be?”

“Jack Skellington,” Isaac says as Erica reaches over and adjusts his bow tie. “Erica’s idea.”

“Doesn’t he look adorable,” Erica coos. She’s got a black wig on and Derek thinks she’s Elvira, or possibly Morticia. He’s not exactly an expert in these things.

“That’s disturbing,” Derek says when Erica pinches Isaac’s cheek. “He’s not a child, Erica.”

“Oh believe me, I know,” she snorts. “I was the one who walked in on him during freshman year with, I forget, _how_ many people did you manage to fit into your bed, Isaac?”

“I really don’t need to know this.” Derek scrunches his face up in a grimace and tries to ignore the very distressing images filling his head.

Isaac flushes, clamping a hand over Erica’s mouth and holding her still as she tries to wriggle away. “We don’t need to talk about it.”

“What’s everyone else dressed as?” Derek asks, glancing around the room.

“I’m Bond,” Boyd says, ignoring Isaac and Erica’s bickering with practiced ease. “Lydia’s the Sally to Isaac’s Jack, Scott’s Lara Croft—” at that Derek raises an eyebrow “—yeah, don’t ask, and Allison’s Gina Carano.”

“And Stiles?”

Erica’s eyes light up and she tugs Isaac’s hand away from her mouth. “You haven’t seen Stiles yet?”

“Would I be asking if I had?”

“Okay grumpy,” Erica says, rolling her eyes. “He’s around, you can’t really miss him.”

Derek isn’t sure he likes the sound of that, but he lets it go and watches as Erica drags Boyd onto the makeshift dancefloor. He’s glad everyone is having a good time, that they can blow off steam like this like normal kids. Fuck, it’s not like they’re even kids anymore, they’re all starting to make their way in the world, and it’s making Derek feel every bit of the age gap between him and the rest of the pack.

Dropping the empty beer bottle in the trash bag, Derek stands up and walks around. A few people he dimly remembers say hi to him and he nods back in an attempt to be somewhat normal. There’s a sudden feel of breasts against his back and Derek’s about to turn around and explain consent to whoever it is when he catches the scent of Scott and—

“Nice outfit,” Derek says when he turns around.

Scott grins, the braided wig stuck on his head having gone limp in the heat. Derek doesn’t want to know where Scott found such realistic fake breasts. He suspects the drag queens from Jungle were involved. “It’s sweet, right?” Scott says, fondling his own boobs. “I always wondered what this would be like.”

Derek quickly glances to the side, searching for an escape, when he catches a glimpse of Stiles on the dancefloor. “Is that—” he waves a hand in the general direction of the familiar, subtly muscled arms in the air.

Scott looks over and laughs. “Yeah, that’s Stiles.”

“Why is he... shiny?”

“You haven’t seen his outfit yet?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Scott does his best to hide a smirk before he’s whisked off by a zombie and vampire to do shots and Derek is now seriously confused about why everyone is acting so coy about what Stiles is wearing.

*

It’s not until Derek’s had a few more beers, and some foul smelling shots Erica gave him, that he sees Stiles in full. Derek’s fairly sure his mouth drops open for a moment, but he quickly shuts it before anyone notices. At least, he hopes no one notices.

A look of recognition passes over Stiles’ face when he turns his head and he walks over to Derek, his throat working as he sucks on a beer and jesus fuck, did Derek ever not need to see Stiles’ mouth wrapped around something like that.

“Derek, hey, you made it,” Stiles says with a grin, looking Derek up and down. “No costume?”

“I think you’re costumed up enough for the both of us,” Derek says, finally.

“Yeah, I—” Stiles runs a hand through his hair, making the shiny gold Sheriff’s shirt pull against his chest. “It’s funny, right? Have you seen the show?”

“What show?”

“Reno 911. I—Sheriff’s kid, thought it’d be pretty amusing.”

Derek’s not sure ‘amusing’ is the word. Those shorts—surely they should be illegal. Is Stiles even wearing underwear? And his legs, fuck, his _thighs_. Derek’s never seen Stiles in so few clothes, and he’s glad it didn’t happen before now because the Sheriff probably would’ve arrested him. Derek has a type, okay, and Stiles—reckless, infuriating, _amazing_ Stiles—is hitting every goddamn button.

“Derek?” Stiles places a hand on Derek’s arm, his brows furrowing. “You okay?”

“What? I’m fine, Stiles.”

“Sure? Your face, you looked—”

“I’m fine,” Derek says, slightly harsher than he meant to. “Sorry, I didn’t. I think Erica might’ve put something in my drink.”

Stiles chews on his lip a little, his eyes going wide. “Oh crap, did she give you a shot?”

“Yeah, three.”

“Scott didn’t warn you?”

“Warn me about what?”

“Lydia, she, uh. She found a mix that would mimic the effects of alcohol on, y’know, you guys.”

“She what?” Derek moves away from the crowd, Stiles following him, and he leans against the wall, shaking his head in an attempt to work off the sudden fuzziness.

“Someone should’ve told you, man, I’m sorry.” Stiles’s hands travel across Derek’s shoulders and Derek doesn’t have the strength to shrug them off, even though they’re making his body react in the most inconvenient of ways. “Are you okay?”

Derek forces himself to ignore this sheer amount of skin Stiles is showing off and nods. “Yeah, I’m—I didn’t expect it.”

“Want me to yell at Erica for you?” Stiles asks with a small smile.

“She’ll maim you,” Derek says, chuckling. “You don’t need to protect me, Stiles.”

“Officer of the law here,” Stiles says, his smile twisting into a dirty smirk. “That’s my job.”

“Not in those shorts.”

“How about out of these shorts?”

“I—”

Stiles’ cheeks flush and he ducks his head. “I didn’t mean—okay, you’re fine. I’m going to, uh. Go. Over there.”

Before Derek can say anything, Stiles is walking away and, holy _fuck_ , Stiles’ ass in those shorts are a vision that will haunt Derek to his dying day. His head hits the wall with a thud and it’s not helping the odd feeling he’s got running through his body after those shots Erica gave him. She’s obviously realised no one told him about the mix because she sidles up to him and hands him a bottle of water with an apologetic smile before walking away.

It only takes a few mouthfuls of water before Derek starts to feel normal again, but then the feeling that he’s out of place comes creeping over him. Everyone’s drinking, dancing and he’s the dude in the corner watching everyone. He’s not _unhappy_ , he’s enjoying everyone having fun—likes that they’re feeling comfortable and safe enough to have fun in the first place—but Derek’s not sure where he fits.

Boyd twirls Erica across the room and Derek finishes his water, dropping the empty bottle in a pile of accumulated detritus. He catches Scott’s eye and nods at him before heading towards the door.

The cool air hits his skin as he steps outside and Derek stops for a moment, lets it skim over his skin as a balm. There’s a creak of the door behind him, and he knows without turning around that it’s Stiles.

“Where’re you going?” Stiles asks as he comes to stand next to him.

“Home.”

“Oh.”

“What?” Derek turns his head to look at Stiles, there’s a flush over his cheekbones, his lips are red and his hair is sticking up in all directions. It’s ridiculous how much Derek wants to get his hands on him in every way possible.

Stiles shrugs, one hand playing with the edge of his shorts. “I wanted you to stay,” he says.

“Why?” Derek asks, honestly confused at why Stiles would possibly want him to stick around at a party.

“Really?” Stiles makes a face at him. “You want me to—” Stiles cuts himself off and sighs. “You really can’t—with your nose? I thought, and I saw the way you—”

“Stiles,” Derek says, his brain suddenly catching up to what Stiles is trying to say. He tentatively slips his hand around Stiles’ wrist and tugs. “Come here.”

There’s no resistance from Stiles as Derek pulls him around the corner of the building and into an alley that doesn’t smell as bad as Derek thought it would. There’s no one else there and Derek gently pushes Stiles against the wall, crowding up against him and sliding his leg between Stiles’ thighs.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles breathes out, his face so close that Derek can see every detail; Stiles’ pupils are blown wide with lust, his eyelashes fluttering against his skin as he closes his eyes every time Derek presses against his crotch.

His mouth drops open and Derek takes his opportunity, leans forward and sucks Stiles’ bottom lip into his mouth. There’s a guttural groan rumbling in Stiles’ throat and Derek swallows it as he kisses Stiles, losing himself in the soft, slick heat of Stiles’ mouth.

It doesn’t take long for Stiles to get with it and soon his arms are around Derek, his hands travelling underneath the leather jacket and pushing it off Derek’s shoulders. Warm fingers dig into Derek’s skin and he lets go of Stiles, takes a step back and quickly shrugs out of his jacket, dropping it on the ground.

There’s a grin on Stiles’ face as he slides his hands underneath Derek’s tank top and Derek moves a little closer, their lips brushing. Placing light kisses against Stiles’ cheek, Derek works his way down until his teeth are grazing the heated skin of Stiles’ neck. It’s intoxicating, breathing Stiles in like this, and Derek’s fumbling fingers start yanking at the fastenings of those fucking obscene shorts.

Sinking to his knees, Derek pushes the shiny fabric out of the way and feasts his eyes on Stiles’ cock, smiling to himself when it twitches under his gaze. Turning his head, Derek sucks a mark on the inside of Stiles’ thigh, sweat and anticipation exploding in his mouth.

“Are you really—oh _fuck_ ,” Stiles breathes out, his fingers fisting in Derek’s hair as Derek licks up his cock, following the veins up to the head and swirling his tongue, lapping up the tempting taste of Stiles’ pre-come.

Stiles can’t keep his mouth shut, moans and exclamations keep spilling from his lips and Derek’s cock throbs in his jeans, finally giving in to what Stiles does to him. The grip on Derek’s hair gets stronger, more confident, until Stiles is holding Derek in place and pushing his hips forward. Derek takes every inch, swallowing around Stiles’ cock when it slides that bit further down, and Stiles is swearing, his heart beat stuttering as he tries so hard to hold off; when Derek reaches around, his hands gripping Stiles’ ass, Stiles’ reaction is instantaneous and he’s coming down Derek’s throat, his hips jerking weakly as Derek swallows every drop of come.

Wiping his mouth, Derek rests his forehead against Stiles’ thigh, idly watching the way his breath makes the hairs on Stiles’ leg move. His head is aching from Stiles’ fingers being tangled in his hair, but now Stiles is stroking them against Derek’s scalp in a soothing motion and Derek closes his eyes for a moment, letting himself have this gentle touch.

“Okay?” Stiles asks. “Anything I can do for you?”

Derek grins and scrambles to his feet, capturing Stiles’ mouth in a kiss, grunting when Stiles’ arms wind their way around his neck to pull him closer. Shamefully, he could probably come from this—the scent of Stiles around him, the taste in his mouth, strong body pressing against his own—but Derek wants more, _needs_ to have more before he comes in his pants.

Stiles is obviously on the same page because he lets go and slides a hand down between them, cupping Derek’s cock through his jeans, Derek’s hips bucking into the touch. “Fuck,” Stiles says. “You’re so close, aren’t you?”

“Those fucking shorts,” Derek groans. “You’re lucky I lasted this long.”

“Why are your jeans so fucking tight,” Stiles whines, giving up on pushing his hand in the waistband and starting to fumble with the zipper instead. He’s just worked it down when Derek hears footsteps and, of course someone wants to come down here _now_.

A light shines down the alley and oh. Oh it’s way worse than Derek thought.

“Stiles,” comes the voice. “Is that you?”

Hand frozen in Derek’s pants, Stiles shakes his head, muttering “no, no, no,” under his breath. Derek wrenches Stiles’ hand out of his pants and turns around, wincing as he tucks himself back in and does up his zipper.

“Dad,” Stiles says, plastering a smile on his face. “How are you?”

“Stiles, your shorts are undone,” the Sheriff says in response.

“Oh jeez.” Hopping around, Stiles does them up, an apologetic look on his face when he catches Derek’s eye. “So,” Stiles says, turning back around to face his dad. “Can we forget about this? Let us go with a friendly warning, no need to ever think about it again?”

The Sheriff’s hand is resting on his sidearm and Derek swallows because if he looks even half as ravaged as Stiles does, there’s no hiding what they were doing. He’s had enough of getting shot, even if he heals, it _hurts_ , and he keeps having to buy new clothes.

“What the hell are you wearing, kid?”

“I’m twenty one, dad.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“A uniform,” Stiles says with a shrug.

“Right.” The Sheriff pinches the bridge of his nose and looks up to the sky. “You are aware I work in this town? As a sheriff?”

“It’s not like I’m being you.”

“Like I’d ever wear shorts like that,” the Sheriff snorts.

Derek ducks down to pick up his jacket from the ground, the Sheriff’s gaze on him the whole time and when he straightens up, he could almost swear there’s a spark of amusement in the Sheriff’s eyes.

“Hale.”

“Sir,” Derek says cautiously. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” the Sheriff says, holding a hand up. “I’m happy to forget this ever happened. I know you have an apartment. Use it in future, okay?”

Derek’s cheeks heat up, his whole face flushing red as Stiles takes his hand. “Yes sir. We—I will.”

“Good. I don’t want to have to drag my son and his boyfriend in for public indecency.”

“Oh my God, dad.”

“Stiles, if you can tell me that you didn’t have your shorts down in this alley, I’ll take it back.”

Stiles’s sneaker grazes the ground and his shoulders hitch up in a half hearted shrug. “I mean—”

“Yeah, exactly,” the Sheriff says. “I’m leaving now. You two will also be leaving, and Stiles?”

“Yes dad?”

“Dinner tomorrow. Hale, you’re joining us.”

Stiles buries his face against Derek’s bare arm and sighs. “Okay, dad.”

“I’ll be there,” Derek says, arm curling around Stiles and pulling him closer as the Sheriff turns around and walks out of the alley.

“That was not how I pictured this ending,” Stiles grumbles.

“Me either,” Derek says, letting go of Stiles and slipping into his jacket. “Your dad made a good point, though.”

“Really?” Stiles looks at him, eyebrows raised in question.

“I do have an apartment. With a bed.”

“He’s right about that,” Stiles smirks. “Your car parked out there?”

“Yep,” Derek says, his eyes shamelessly fixed on Stiles’ gold clad ass.

“I know you’re staring at my ass,” Stiles calls as he walks away.

Derek chases after him, wrapping his hand around Stiles’ forearm and pulling him into a delicate kiss, stubble rasping against Stiles’ skin as he tries to pour everything that’s way too soon to say into the firm press of his lips.

“Wow,” Stiles says when he pulls away, a dazed look on his face. “That’s—this is a long time coming, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

“Really?”

“Yes, dumbass.”

“That’s nice,” Derek grins.

“Shut up,” Stiles says, going in for another kiss, mouth twisting into a pout when Derek backs away.

“Apartment,” Derek says, raising an eyebrow at Stiles. “Unless you want your dad catching us again?”

“Nope, no, definitely don’t want that.” Stiles hooks his arm through Derek’s as they walk over to the car. “Hey,” Stiles says, leaning against the car door. “Happy Halloween.”

Derek smiles at Stiles and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Happy Halloween, Stiles.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](likeairplanelights.tumblr.com)


End file.
